still life with tattoo gun and umbrella

[yarrowkat]

still life with tattoo gun and umbrella
Marty McConnell

I tell Emily a negative spell
is impossible. That magic

can only make, not un-make,
not prevent. I walk to the store
in the cold February haze, the drizzle

making everything faintly shine. I’ve never
before been wise. But here, in the middle
of my third real suffering, the body

has learned to tell me things. The sky
is a fabulous, relentless grey, a slate

some unseen dog’s tongue licked clean.
I owe my life to this expanse
of city, the clocks and unbuttoned

mannequins, the long
tinselled lake, its steady invitation.
Every morning I am remade. Emily

had the crooked heart
I drew on her arm

made permanent. Magic
is like this. Imperfect. I thought
I would be someone else

by now. The rain starts flinging itself
against the pavement. My face
is a lost glove, missing

for days. My face
is on vacation, call back

another time. My face
does not have the time,
or change, or the patience

for any more pretty lies.
Put your mouth on mine.
This is how we stop the rain.